July 4, 1980
The flimsy trailer door rattled beneath Frankie’s knock, before opening to reveal Tommy, his face set to “grimace.” With his big eyes and floppy hair, he more resembled a puppy with a chew toy than someone with a bone to pick. It was cute that he tried, though. Not that Frankie would ever say that to his face. Tommy had a thing about being small. And cute.
“Said I’d meet you at the creek,” he growled.
“I got here early.” Frankie scrutinized Tommy’s jeans. “Don’t you have any shorts? I want to go swimming.”
Tommy seemed happy enough dipping his feet in the water, but he never wanted to swim. Said it was on account of not having any trunks.
Grumbling, Tommy said, “Wait there.”
Ignoring the command, Frankie followed him inside the trailer. With all the shades drawn, it was like entering a smokehouse. Close and hot, the air thick with the scent of cigarettes and burned food. Despite working at a diner, Tommy’s mom was a terrible cook. She waited tables well enough, or so his uncle said. He always left a big tip, anyway.
Tommy was shoving a sandwich into his old green backpack. He’d given up wearing camouflage about a year and a half ago, but he treated his army surplus rucksack as though it had mystical properties. It did hold a lot.
Frankie patted his own pack, which was stuffed full of snacks packed by his aunt. “I’ve got plenty of food. Come on! And don’t forget your trunks.”
“I told you, I don’t have any.”
Holding back a sigh, Frankie said, “We’ll get you some at the lodge.”
“Yours won’t fit me.”
“We have a bunch in the laundry. People leave them behind every year.”
Tommy’s shoulders hunched in and up in a sort-of shrug. He hated it when Frankie visited him at home—even more so when he came inside. Frankie didn’t see how it was such a big deal, except for the fact Tommy’s entire house would fit inside one of the garages at the lodge, with space left over, and the whole not having anything to wear but the same jeans he’d worn to school all year.
Personally, Frankie would hate having only one pair of jeans. He liked putting together different outfits at the start of every day. Matching colors and fabrics to the weather and season. His sister said he was vain, but Frankie saw his attitude as practical. Who wanted to sweat it out in the wrong material? And a bulky guy like him had to dress in a certain style if he wanted to look good.
Tommy didn’t seem to hate being poor—he never complained about it. He just didn’t like being reminded of it. He was a contradiction in every other way too. Small and dark where his mother had fair skin and blue eyes. Quiet, but full of words—he apparently wrote poetry in his head, or maybe that was something he said when Frankie complained about the quiet thing. Still but always looking as if he could just . . . go. Frankie fully expected to turn around one day and find Tommy had disappeared. Or had sprinted a mile distant without making a sound. Or shot off to the moon or something. He was packed energy personified.
And still fussing with his backpack.
Frankie wrenched it from his hands, fastened the last strap, and gestured for Tommy to turn. He slipped the pack over his friend’s shoulders. “C’mon. You can adjust it later.”
They had a lot to do today.
First up was checking the nesting boxes they’d nailed to trees at different points along the hiking trails. Since the summer they’d met, Frankie’s uncle paid them both to maintain those trails. Pick up dead wood, or tell him where to go with the chainsaw, fill in holes, repaint the blazes, make sure the trespassing signs were posted all along the creek, and this year, they’d done the nesting boxes. They looked like little houses, and Frankie and Tommy had painted them all different colors before nailing them up at intervals along the trails. Today was the day they’d set aside to see if they’d enticed any birds to make a nest.
They still hid from the hikers now and again, making a game out of scurrying up a tree without getting caught. But since Tommy’s mom had told him his father hadn’t actually been a soldier, they hadn’t played war. Instead they stalked. Played trapper or warrior. Frankie wasn’t as into it as Tommy was, but he played along because Tommy was his best friend.
After jumping across one of the stepping stone bridges they’d laid across the creek, Frank led the way to the first group of nesting boxes, three miniature Tudor mansions nailed around a clearing. They were disappointingly empty.
“Maybe it’s because too many hikers come through here,” Tommy said while poking his finger inside one of the lower boxes. He had to lift up onto his toes to do so.
“Yeah, probably. Let’s check on the ones we put down by the drop-off.” Where the creek bank rose to an appreciable height. The trail looped close by, but not along the bank.
An hour later, they’d found no birds. Frankie was thoroughly depressed, but Tommy had his thoughtful face on. “I wonder if it’s the paint. Or the varnish. Maybe we should have left the houses plain.”
“But they look much nicer painted.”
Tommy shrugged.
“C’mon, let’s head back to the lodge,” Frankie said. “My aunt was baking this morning.”
“Don’t you have enough food in your pack? I can hear it rattling around in there.”
“No such thing as too much food when it comes to cookies.”
Tommy allowed a smile for that.
Sure enough, Aunt Madge was baking, but pies not cookies. And they weren’t allowed to touch any of them. And she had the same comment about Frankie’s full backpack. “Why don’t you go swimming?”
“We were going to head along the west trail and look for fossils,” Tommy said. He’d argued for that before returning to the house too, but Frank wanted to swim before they took another hike.
“Aunt Madge, where’s the lost-and-found box?”
“In the laundry where it always is. Why?”
“Tommy doesn’t have any trunks.”
Tommy was studying the floor with great interest, but even though he’d already caught a good amount of sun this year, Frankie could see the blush spreading across his cheeks.
His aunt studied Tommy for a moment, her softly wrinkled brow creasing just a little more deeply, and then she started wiping her hands on her apron. “Wait here a minute and do not touch my pies. Eldon?” One of the other cooks glanced over his shoulder. “Make sure they don’t touch the pies?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Eldon answered with a grin.
As soon as she left the room, Tommy sidled over to the counter lined with cooling pies. He held out a finger, waved it through the air, and slowly lowered it toward one of the dishes.
“Don’t make me break that finger off,” Eldon warned.
Chuckling, Tommy continued his pantomime, dancing around the counter and pretending to touch every pie. He even leaned in to lick the air over one, murmuring something about it being his favorite. Eldon cautioned him about health code violations.
“What if this one fell on the floor? We could say a cat did it.”
“Tommy, you are just a bundle of mischief and all sorts of bad influence on Frankie here.”
Tommy rolled his eyes.
“Aunt Madge always makes an extra pie or two for family,” Frankie said. “Which one is it?”
“Never you mind.”
His aunt returned with a bundle of familiar fabric in her hands: a pair of trunks his mom had bought for Frankie last summer. The waistband had been too tight, though, and he’d only worn them once, afraid he’d drown when the lower half of his body went numb from lack of blood.
“Here,” she said, handing them to Tommy. “Try these on.”
Tommy eyed the trunks with suspicion, rubbing the dark-green fabric between his fingers and studying the seams. “Are these new?”
“Just about.” Auntie Madge was inspecting the pies, and Frankie got the feeling that she knew the less attention she paid to Tommy right now, the more likely he was to accept the gift. Tommy would steal a pie—for fun. But despite the fact he often didn’t seem to get enough to eat, he never stole something he actually needed. He had a weird set of boundaries.
“Can we swim now?” Frankie asked.
“I guess.”
Frankie led the way to the bathhouse, where they exchanged clothes and backpacks for trunks and towels. By the time he stepped out across the patio, Tommy looked like a man condemned. He had his arms wrapped around his middle and stood with his legs pressed close together. The trunks fit, and exposed more of Tommy’s dusky skin than Frank had seen before. His legs were longer than Frank had supposed. Arms too. His chest and hips were narrow, but he was pretty well defined for a kid. Probably because he was so skinny. His lean muscles didn’t have to compete with the comfortable layer of flesh Frank carried on his own person.
The pool was close to packed. The resort was busy all summer, but especially around the holidays. After finding a free spot in the deep end, Frankie ran and jumped, tucking his knees up high and wrapping his arms around them. One of the best things about being on the bigger side was the ability to displace great quantities of water when he cannonballed. He hit the water hard, the slap of it stinging the back of his thighs and hips, before he plunged deep, the burn of chlorine already racing through his sinuses. Bubbles tickled his face and ears, and his hair waved around his face. Frankie blasted back up out of the water, buoyed by a bounce off the floor, and reached to push his bangs out of his eyes. The surface of the pool sloshed around him, and from the expressions of the swimmers close by, he might have managed to displace a child or two along with half the pool.
The reaction he cared about most, however, was the one he got from Tommy, who was bent in half and holding his stomach. Laughing.
Frank splashed over to the side of the pool and rested his arms across the warm flagstones around the edge. “C’mon in!”
Tommy crept forward slowly, glancing every which way, and sat at the edge of the pool, allowing his legs to dangle in the water. His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “It’s cold.”
“Yep.”
“Weren’t you worried about your heart stopping? Just jumping in like that?”
“Nope. They do it in Sweden all the time.”
“Cannonballs?”
“No, jumping in cold water. They warm up in a sauna and then jump in ice pools or something.”
“Wow.”
“Right? We should try it when we get there.”
Tommy patted his pocket, or where his pocket would be if he were still wearing his jeans. “Don’t have my notebook with me.”
“That’s okay, we’ll remember. I’m pretty sure Scandinavia was already on our list anyway.”
“Probably. We’re up to thirty-three pages.”
Frankie grinned. “By the time we’re done with school, we’ll have three notebooks. No, ten!”
“We’ll never live long enough to visit all those places. We should do the important ones first.”
“Maybe we need a new book already. One where we list what order we’ll do everything.”
Tommy shook his head. “We’ll be following stories. And whatever order we decide, life will take us somewhere else. That’s what happens.”
“You could be right.” Frankie splashed some water up over Tommy’s legs. “So are you coming in or what?”
“I’ll just watch you swim.”
“What? No! You’re always telling me you won’t swim because you don’t have any shorts. Now you’ve got some. It’s time to pay up.”
Tommy’s eyebrows pulled down, and his eyes darkened from chocolate to moonless night. “I don’t owe you anything.”
“Yeah, you do. Trunks mean swimming.”
Tommy lifted a leg out of the water, and Frankie caught him around the ankle. “Where are you going?”
“Nowhere.”
“What is it? Can’t you swim or something?”
Fear pinched Tommy’s brow, briefly, and then he put on his angry face. “So what if I can’t?”
Not all that surprising, but the fact he’d wound Frankie along for nearly two years without saying so stung about as bad as cold water across the back of his thighs. Not sure how to respond without sounding like a spoiled brat, Frankie let go of Tommy’s ankle. Tommy stopped trying to stand up, but he was doing his closed-off thing. Being still.
All friendships experienced bumps. They’d smooth this one before the day was done—Frankie just had to figure out how. He glanced at the shallow end of the pool, currently crowded with splashing toddlers and little kids. If he didn’t know how to swim, he sure wouldn’t want a lesson right then. Not with everyone looking on.
Then he got an idea. “Wait here.”
Tommy nodded at his hands.
Frankie wrestled his way out of the pool and shook, sending water flying in all directions. Tommy raised his hands to shield himself. A hint of a smile played around the sides of his mouth. By the time Frankie returned with his idea, Tommy had relaxed from stillness into something less stiff.
He narrowed his eyes at the bright-pink inflatable ring Frankie was carrying. “No.”
“Yes.” Frankie produced rope. “I’m taking you for a ride. Slide on into this ring and I’ll tow you from one end of the pool to the other.” He could see the interest in Tommy’s eyes warring with everything else that made him stubborn as a mule, and held up the ring again. “Chariot.” He slapped the rope against his chest. “Horse. Pretend you’re Ben-Hur.”
“Really? Ben-Hur in the pool?”
Frankie shrugged. He had nothing better.
Tommy smiled. “Okay. Pass it over. But you don’t have to take me for a ride.”
He did, though. Once Tommy got into the water, he showed no fear—only delight. He even started saying pink was his new favorite color as he splashed in circles, making the plastic ring spin. When Frankie tied on the rope, Tommy didn’t discourage him. Instead, he whooped as Frankie swam the length of the pool, dragging his best friend behind him.
Later, Frankie snoozed by the side of the pool, getting too much sun. He’d have a million freckles by next week, but he didn’t care. Having Tom spread out beside him, humming as he drew patterns in the water spreading across the patio pretty much canceled out most worries.
Dinner for family was at a long table set up between the kitchen garden and the guest patio. Frankie sat next to Tommy and looked around his friend at the empty seat next along, the one they were saving for Tommy’s mom.
Tommy elbowed him back into place, his face set into a determined “she’ll be here” expression.
Sure enough, a minute later, Robert waved from the top of the table and called out, “Wendy! Glad you could make it.”
Wendy returned a shy wave and bent down to hug her son from behind. “Hey, little man.” She kissed the top of Tommy’s head and though Tommy didn’t go all gooey, he did smile the sort of smile that made other people feel bright, just from being nearby.
Wendy pulled out the chair next to Tommy and sat down before putting a small newspaper-wrapped bundle on Tommy’s plate. “Got this for you.” They were weird like that, the Benjamins. Giving gifts on days that weren’t birthdays. Frankie always thought it’d be fun to get something unexpected, though.
Tommy tore at the paper and grinned as he held up a Rubik’s Cube. It wasn’t packaged up like a new one, but looked pretty clean. “Awesome! Thanks, Mom.”
“I bet you can solve it by the time we finish dinner,” Wendy said, giving him a proud smile.
Tommy immediately set to trying and only put the thing aside for pie.
After dinner, the adults sat around talking, Wendy moving up the table to sit with Robert and Madge. Frankie and Tommy joined the other kids, sitting by the pool, waiting for dark. Frankie had nearly fallen asleep listening to the creak and click of the Rubik’s Cube when a warm hand touched his shoulder.
He glanced up to find his uncle looming over them. “You boys want to help out with the fireworks tonight?” Robert always did fireworks for the Fourth of July. He got a permit and had a sheriff out there supervising and everything.
Frankie didn’t think he’d ever stood up so fast. Tom was quick to follow, his new toy making a bulky shape in the pocket of his shorts. Robert held a finger to his lips. “Shh.” He pointed to the dark side of the garage. “Meet you over there in—”
“Robert Tern, where are you taking those boys?”
Robert straightened and turned to face Aunt Madge. “Just going to—”
“They’re too young.”
It seemed to Frankie that his uncle’s shoulders dropped about as much as his and Tommy’s did. His aunt shook her head. Then Frankie’s mom was there, and Wendy, and they were all agreeing the boys were too young to help out. Even his dad was no use. He kept nodding and making “hmm” sounds, despite Frankie’s plea that Matty had been doing it since he was twelve, which, yeah, was still a year away.
Robert squeezed Frankie’s and Tommy’s shoulders. “Next year, boys. And we’ll make it special. Your dad and I’ll take you shopping beforehand so you can help us choose the best display.” Then he leaned in to whisper in Frankie’s ear. “Best view is from the roof, but don’t tell your mom I said so.”
Technically, the roof was off-limits, but Frankie knew how to get up there. He helped Tommy climb through the window at the far end of the lodge, and together they crabbed over the slate tiles until they got to the flatter space over the second-floor balcony.
It was a little while until the fireworks started, but for once Frankie didn’t feel compelled to fill the quiet. He watched the guests assembling on the lawn and then peered into the dim distance to see if Uncle Robert and his dad were getting ready to set off the show. Beside him, Tommy worked his Cube, and it was comfortable, just being there and saying nothing.
Then Tommy spoke, his voice little more than a murmur over the buzz from below. “Benjamin and Franklin.”
“Huh?”
Tommy turned to him, his face mostly shadow, except for his eyes, which always seemed bright and lively. “Our names, sort of. My last name, your first name. That’s what we should call ourselves when we start traveling. You can write about our adventures, and I’ll draw pictures or maybe take pictures.” Tommy had recently developed an interest in photography, one encouraged by Uncle Robert. “And whatever we put together can have those names. Sounds better than Frank and Tom.”
“Frankie and Tommy.”
“Tom.”
Frankie snorted. Then he tried out Tommy’s idea. “Benjamin and Franklin.”
A soft chime sounded somewhere inside him, announcing the rightness of the name, of the link between them, and the idea they’d always be together. Living, growing, exploring. He nodded. Said it again. “Benjamin and Franklin. I like it.”
Frankie slung his arm around Tommy’s shoulders and drew him into a sideways hug. For once, Tommy didn’t get all stiff or spiky. Instead he relaxed against Frankie’s side and even let his head drop onto Frankie’s shoulder. Man, it was nice. That warmth at his side. It was almost as though they shared a body for a minute, or a space where two people could be one.
For longer than a minute.
For the whole fireworks show.
And it didn’t matter that Tommy fell asleep before the end—though how anyone could sleep through all that banging and whistling was a mystery of the ages—because he should be that comfortable.
This was Tommy’s place. Right at his side.